Swamp and Bayou (11th in the Vicksburg series)
by PollyVictorian
Summary: Scott's first taste of battle.


The 83rd Indiana was on the march again. If you can call this marching, thought Scott, as his feet sank into the boggy ground with every step. It had been nearly an hour since the regiment had disembarked from the riverboats at a clearing on the Yazoo River optimistically called Johnson's Farm but their pace through the swampland was so slow that he reckoned they hadn't covered much distance. He wondered how the officers knew which way to go. There was nothing like a trail or pathway through the close-set trees and he, for one, couldn't even have been sure of finding his way back to the river. The flat swampland offered no landmarks, no variation. What he could see ahead looked exactly the same as what lay behind and to either side. He stumbled over a tree root and muttered a couple of words that he would never have used in Boston.

"It'll be getting too dark to march, soon," said Tice, coming up beside Scott. "It must have been near four o'clock when we came off the boat. Hardly made sense for us to set off – we can't have come much more than a couple of miles, if that."  
>"It doesn't matter if it made sense or not," Scott replied. "Our orders were to march, so we march until we're ordered to stop."<br>"You're getting the hang of army life, Corporal Lancer." Dan Cassidy's attempt at humor was accompanied by a wry twist of the mouth. His trousers were covered in mud from his own encounter with some protruding tree roots. "We've just got to …" He stopped abruptly as a sound came from somewhere ahead of them.  
>"Gunfire," said Scott. The three men looked at each other.<br>"Keep moving, men!" Sergeant Stevenson's order came as the troops of Company L were hesitating. "There's some skirmishing going on up ahead but we're well out of range yet. Sergeant Cassidy, keep the men moving along."  
>"Yes, sir." Dan resumed his place at the head of the column of soldiers and Scott and Tice began urging the men forward. The troops slogged on, wary now of more than just mud and tree roots.<p>

Another quarter of an hour's march brought them to a stretch of ground where the tree cover thinned out. Captain Faulkner called the company to a halt.  
>"We'll camp here, men. Build fires but keep them small and put them out as soon as your rations are cooked." The soldiers eased their knapsacks off their shoulders and set about the task of erecting tents on the marsh that passed for ground.<p>

"The captain could have saved himself the trouble of that last order," Rick said as he brought in a small armful of twigs. "There's not enough dry kindling around here to make much of a fire or keep it burning for long." He jumped as the sound of gunfire came once again.  
>"How far away is that, do you think?" Scott asked Dan.<br>"Can't tell," replied Dan. "I've never been in this sort of terrain before. I don't know how far sound carries."  
>"Well, let's just hope the Confederate gentlemen aren't inconsiderate enough to interrupt our supper," said Scott, greasing up the frying pan.<br>"What's on the menu tonight, good sir?" Tice matched Scott's tone.  
>"Speciality of the house – <em>ventre de la truie<em>."  
>"What's that in plain talk?" Joe Lewis asked.<br>"I believe it translates as sowbelly," Dan answered him.  
>"Thought so," said Joe.<p>

As the daylight faded, a drizzling rain set in. By lights out, it had increased to a steady downpour and water was seeping in through the tops of the shelter tents. Scott and Tice made themselves as comfortable as they could but the water dripping from above and the damp ground below made for poor sleeping. And although the sporadic gunfire had ceased with the onset of darkness, Scott found himself listening for it through the night.

Morning brought orders to resume the march. After breakfast cooked over sputtering fires built with damp twigs, the soldiers fell into line and began moving forward once more.  
>"Hear it?" asked Tice.<br>"Yes," Scott answered. The gunfire was clearly audible.  
>"That's directly ahead of us," said Jed Lewis. "We're marching right towards it."<br>"That's what we're here for, Private Lewis," said Dan. "To be where the fighting is."  
>"Reckon we'll get to do some shooting ourselves, Sarge?" Joe asked.<br>"If we're ordered to, we will," Dan told him, "if not, then we won't. It's not up to us to decide."

It was mid-morning when they heard a louder noise than gunfire.  
>"Is that cannon?" Scott looked over at Dan.<br>"I think so," Sergeant Cassidy replied.  
>They kept marching. Scott hadn't really needed to ask Dan the question – he knew it was artillery they could hear. He had heard cannon fired before, at Independence Day celebrations, but then the orders had been to keep clear, so no-one got hurt. The celebratory noise was of short duration but this menacing sound kept on. And the orders were to head towards it.<p>

By the time the troops made a brief noon halt, the gunfire was continuous and the sound of artillery was a steady roar. Scott could see a haze of smoke ahead. The afternoon march was slower, with halts as the company's officers waited for reconnaissance parties to return and orders to arrive from further up the line of command. Colonel Spooner rode back and forth along the lines, encouraging the men. He was amongst Company L when Adjutant Robinson rode up to him with a message. Scott heard the colonel's shouted order.  
>"Head to the right! We're backing up General Steele's division."<p>

A march as brisk as was possible over the swampy terrain brought them to a stretch of open ground. Other regiments were there already, exchanging fire with the enemy troops that were ranged in a strong position against a line of hills. As the 83rd followed its color-bearer to the regiment's assigned position, Scott was aware of the pungent smell of the smoke that hung in a thick cloud over the field. The roar of the artillery beat against his ears and it seemed to him that the pounding of his heart was almost as loud.

Company L was barely in position when the Confederates sent a volley of musket fire into their ranks. The suddenness of the assault was a shock. Scott was stunned and for a stupid moment he wondered what to do next. Then he knew – wait for orders. The wait was short; the command came almost immediately from Captain Faulkner.  
>"Fire at will!"<br>Scott hesitated, not because he was unwilling to obey the order but because he was struggling to see the enemy troops through the smoky haze. The men along the line on either side of him were also peering ahead uncertainly. Sergeant Stevenson, the regular army veteran, knew what the green soldiers were thinking.  
>"You don't need to pick a target. You can judge where their lines are from their shots. Just keep up a steady fire, men."<p>

Scott obeyed, firing his musket, reloading and firing again. Beside and around him, his comrades were doing the same. Artillery shells arced towards them, passing over their heads with a screeching roar. Scott forced himself to concentrate on his job. Shoot. Reload. Keep up a steady fire. The smoke stung his eyes. The noise of musketry and cannon made it impossible to hear any orders but he watched the officers. Captain Faulkner waved them forward and he moved ahead with the others. Shoot. Reload. Keep up a steady fire. He caught a glimpse of Dan off to his left. Rick was beside him on his right. Shoot. Reload. Keep up a steady fire. He stopped trying to keep track of time. Enemy bullets went singing past him. Shoot. Reload. Keep up a steady fire. Lieutenant Mallory was waving, signalling to retreat. Sergeant Stevenson was gesturing towards the rear. Fall back. Remember the drill. Keep the men in line. Fall back in good order. He saw Tice supporting a wounded man hobbling along. Then they were back amongst the trees, out of range: it was over, for the moment.

"Any casualties, Sergeant?" Captain Faulkner surveyed the men standing about or leaning against trees, getting their breath – and in some cases, their wits – back.  
>"Minor wounds only, Captain," Sergeant Stevenson reported.<br>"Good. Keep your weapons at the ready, men. We'll stay here until daylight. No fires."  
>The soldiers arranged themselves in what comfort they could manage on mossy logs or the muddy ground.<br>"Got any fancy French names for hardtack, Scott?" asked Dan. "That's the sum total of the menu tonight."  
>Scott shook his head. "No, hardtack defies even French."<br>"Well, we've seen a battle," Tice said. "We're not greenhorns any more."  
>"Just a pity that the Rebs got the best of it," said Joe.<br>"Yeah, it's not much to brag about – that we've been in a battle and lost," Jed followed on from his twin.  
>"We all obeyed orders and we did our best," said Dan. "We can hold our heads up."<p>

A boom from the enemy lines and the screech of a shell passing overhead brought them to the alert.  
>"Stay in line, men," Sergeant Stevenson ordered. "It's getting dark, but the Secesh won't let up any more than they have to. There'll likely be some real fighting come daylight." Scott and his comrades stared at him. He laughed. "Don't worry boys, the Rebs won this little skirmish but we'll show 'em once the battle starts."<br>Scott looked across at Dan and Tice and saw his own astonishment mirrored on their faces. This had just been a little skirmish?

"Did Sergeant Stevenson really mean that the fighting will be worse tomorrow?" asked Rick.  
>"That's what he seemed to think, Rick," Dan answered.<br>Two more shells flew over them, landing well in the rear of the stand of trees.  
>"Are we supposed to stay here all night, with that going on?" demanded Jed.<br>"We stay here till daylight, that's what Captain Faulkner said," was Scott's response.  
>"And then what?" asked Joe.<br>Scott knew the answer to that.  
>"We wait for orders."<p> 


End file.
